


The Prices We've Paid

by astralTYRANT



Category: RWBY
Genre: Amputation, Gen, Gore, Surgery, filling in the gaps for Volumes 3 and 4, graphic depictions of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 09:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21455914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralTYRANT/pseuds/astralTYRANT
Summary: In the aftermath of the Fall, Emerald starts to realize she might out of her depth.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	The Prices We've Paid

There were days—once far and few in-between, but now becoming increasingly more frequent—when Emerald was relieved the entirety of their plans didn’t hinge solely on Cinder’s confidence.

Not that the surety was unwarranted. Tonight had been the culmination of months spent carefully vetting and recruiting numbers to their cause, compromising the kingdom’s defenses, theft and sabotage and infiltration and _death_ of a magnitude that Remnant hadn’t seen in nearly a century. Cinder had been meticulous in leaving little to chance, and in the end, they succeeded.

Mostly, anyway.

Emerald struggled not to lose her footing on the gnarled root of a tree, nearly-overbalancing to compensate for the weight borne between them. Beside her, Mercury faltered in his pace, pausing long enough to readjust the limp form braced by his shoulder. The light of the shattered moon and distant flames illuminated the sheen of sweat on his face, and the haunted, hunted look he did little to hide. She never thought she would have found herself _missing_ his obnoxious arrogance or haughty disdain for everyone around him, if only because it was something familiar. Anything would have been better than the sobering panic he wore, which she was sure perfectly mirrored her own.

“We’re close to the extraction point, right?” Emerald asked, when the silence became too much. Well, no, silence wasn’t the right word. Even with all the distance they’d put between themselves and the city wall, she could still hear the screams of people and the spine-chilling ululations of the Grimm.

Mercury pulled out his scroll and thumbed through a mess of readouts on the screen. “It’s about thirty meters northeast from here. Rendezvous’s gonna be a spot in Forever Fall. Figure it should only be another ten minutes.” He scowled. “Probably not though, seeing as we’re sort of _inconvenienced_ at the moment. We could get there faster if we just—”

“Don’t,” Emerald snapped.

“For fuck’s sake, Emerald, _look at her_.” It was kind of hard not to, with her adrenaline-overdosed brain jumping back and forth between spellbound morbid curiosity and gut-churning disgust. Emerald made an effort to keep her eyes fixed ahead, determinedly ignoring Mercury’s glare. “She’s slowing us down. And _if_ by some miracle the Grimm don’t pursue us, she’s lost a lot of blood. Who knows if there’s anything left to even save.”

Her pulse jumped in her throat. “The Grimm aren’t going to go after three people while there’s still the entirety of Vale,” Emerald said in what she hoped passed for a reasonable tone. “And—” She weighed her options against all the things she actually wanted to say (_she’s our leader, we wouldn’t be here without her, we’ve survived worse, abandoning her is wrong_) and decided that appealing to Mercury’s self-interest would get her the results she wanted. “What happens when we show up without her? What happens when _she_ finds out we made that call?”

A vicious satisfaction surged through her as Mercury, however discreetly, flinched.

“We already lost our chance at getting the Relic. How forgiving do you think she’d be if she found out we lost the Fall Maiden, too?”

Very faintly, she could make out the sound of teeth grinding together.

In the end self-preservation won out, and to her relief Mercury didn’t argue. On some tacit agreement they resumed their trek in tense silence, with the only interruptions being the occasional grunt of exertion, the snap of a twig underfoot, or an incoherent noise of pain. Fortunately her theory held true and they moved through the shadows of the trees unaccosted, though it did little to quell the anxiety savagely beating against her ribs. The thoughts came unbidden, and Emerald tried (and failed) to not dwell on the very real possibility of Mercury’s words.

There had been a lot of blood. And in between digging through rubble and sprinting through the hysteria-induced crowds toward the outskirts of the commercial district, they didn't have a lot of time to make a proper assessment. Were it not for the shallows puffs of air against the side of her neck, she could have forgiven him for assuming otherwise.

She could have, but the odds of that were up there with the ones of ripping off one of his prosthetic legs and proceeding to beat him to death with it. For now, at least, he was keeping his spiteful cynicism to himself.

Her uneasy train of thought was interrupted by the sight of a dim glow in the gap of the trees.

Emerald stopped and gestured with her free arm in the direction of the light. After briefly consulting his scroll, Mercury nodded, and they pushed their way through the undergrowth.

During the final stages of preparation it had been a foregone conclusion that Atlas’ fleet would be too preoccupied with the White Fang, Grimm, and overridden mechs to pay mind to any lone airship that just so happened to blip on the edge of their radar. Even so, Cinder had been loathe to let a getaway vehicle anywhere near her preparations, with the merest hint at a contingency plan from Torchwick nearly earning him a second-degree burn. To even _suggest_ the need for one implied failure, an implication which Cinder did not take to kindly. It was only when Salem was consulted on the matter, and made it clear that retreat must be considered a possible outcome, did Cinder relent.

It made sense, really, when Emerald had tried to approach the issue from Cinder’s perspective. Contingency plans were a sign of ineptitude. That you didn’t posses the resolve or skill to succeed, that you openly acknowledged your inability to account for what could go wrong. Cinder had accounted for _everything_, and therefore nothing could go wrong.

A mutinous voice at the back of her mind (the one Mercury liked to mock whenever they were beset by boredom and passed the time by bickering) tried to empathize. Emerald had _wanted_ to believe her. And as she’d watched from the rooftop—the Wyvern perched atop Beacon Tower, stygian tar dripping from its wings and Cinder’s outstretched hand caressing its skeletal maw, as the world beneath them burned—she had.

They emerged at the edge of a small clearing where the airship idled. A seamless door slid open on the hull, pooling light on the ground ahead of them. Emerald squinted against the glare as a familiar silhouette stepped into view.

“Just because the CCT has fallen does _not_ mean local communication was disrupted,” said Watts, by way of greeting. They’d only dealt with him a handful of times in the last year, as Cinder preferred to minimize her and her team’s interactions with him. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out why. Salem made sure to fill the ranks of her council with people of varying occupations and skillsets, and it had taken all of thirty seconds of listening to Watts talk before Emerald had filed him under the heading of Obnoxious Bastard.

Of course it was their luck that he’d been assigned to extraction, in the event of a worst-case scenario.

Then again, he was apparently some sort of doctor, so maybe it was their luck.

Time to find out.

“Sorry we didn't call ahead." Mercury bristled. "Kind of hard to do when we’re running for our lives.”

“And whose fault is that, I wonder?” Watts said. He brushed his hands down the front of his overcoat, narrowed eyes peering into the darkness where he couldn’t see, but still heard them approach. “Were I not concerned with the impending consequences, I would congratulate you on the manner in which you failed. I suppose if you were going to waste our one chance at victory, then might as well do it with style. That was quite the lightshow. I think there were a few people in Mantle that _didn’t _go blind just now.”

“That wasn’t us,” Emerald said, an edge creeping into her voice. She took another step toward their escape, desperately trying to ignore the stab of agitation at the seconds ticking by. “We need to get onboard and leave. Cinder is—”

“Ah, yes. Our fledgling Maiden. I did wonder how she fared.” He had the audacity to smirk. Were she not making the effort to fight off exhaustion, Emerald might have considered the risk worth hitting him. Agitation and fear were quickly fraying what little patience she had left, and if Mercury’s clenched fist was any indicator, _consequences be damned_ was going to become a battle cry very soon. “Our lady invested quite the time and resources into her training. It would be a shame to learn that it had all been for naught.”

“Then see for yourself,” Mercury spat. At last he stepped forward and pulled Emerald with him into full view, carrying with them the third member of their party.

The emotion slid from Watts’ face.

“Bring her onboard and set her down, now,” he ordered.

“What did you think we were trying to tell you?” Mercury’s barbed remark was predictably ignored, not that Emerald really cared. Watts had already disappeared to the front of the ship by the time they’d hastened Cinder’s limp form onto one of the benches by the wall.

For the first time since they’d hauled Cinder from the wreckage, Emerald was able to get a clear, unobstructed look at the extent of her injuries. It occurred to her, somewhere, in the region of her brain not preoccupied with gaping like a fish, that a lifetime spent in poverty had given her a pretty great front row seat to the unflinching horrors of the world. What people looked like as they starved to death, what people smelled like as untreated wounds turned gangrene from medical neglect. What people sounded like as they died in anonymity, begging for help from passersby that would avert their gaze and double their pace. The familiarity had taken on a role reversal in recent months, courtesy of Cinder’s benefactors, and Emerald could now say that she’d perpetrated quite a few of those horrors herself, with the odd homicide or two thrown in for good measure.

A lifetime of horror had made Emerald assume she was immune to the worst of it by now, only to realize she needed to seriously update her definition of _worst_.

The arm was the most immediate and visually arresting. Halfway down the appendage, just above where the elbow should have been, hung strips of mangled flesh. Debris and bone fragments sullied the wound, darkening the blood that had begun to trickle around the remains of the limb.

There was a sudden, plummeting sensation in her midriff, accompanied by a bout of nausea Emerald very nearly failed to suppress. Not wanting to vomit on her boss, she decided to focus on Cinder’s face instead.

And immediately regretted it.

A mutilated stump was a lot to take in, but at least it still looked like a _limb_. Cinder’s face was all but unrecognizable. Skin had been asymmetrically burned away into a topographic map of red-and-white flesh that furrowed and peaked, as if it were suspended in the process of melting. Where an eye should have been was a congealed mass of raw flesh and fluid that pooled into the socket. Only the right side of Cinder’s face remained unmarred, comparatively speaking. Amidst the pallor of the skin her remaining eye shone wetly, the pupil dilated to a pinprick, unfocused on the people crowding above her.

“She looks…bad,” Emerald managed, when her vocal cords finally remembered how to work. As far as descriptors went it was pretty underwhelming, and judging by Mercury’s unimpressed frown, he agreed.

“She looks nearly dead,” Mercury corrected her, rather unnecessarily at that. Okay, it was more accurate than “bad,” but it still made Emerald want to punch him. Common sense quickly banished the impulse from her thoughts. Both of them were low on Aura and running on fumes, and getting into an impromptu fistfight on a moving aircraft probably wasn’t the smartest plan. Instead, she focused on dragging air through her lungs, wincing at the burning sensation from the smoke she’d inhaled. The gesture did enough to clear her mind though, and bring with it another intrusive thought.

“Why hasn’t she said anything?” Torn between the desire to touch and the instinctive fear of Cinder lashing out at any physical contact, Emerald hovered nearby, arms folded over her chest. “She made noise when we transported her, so she’s definitely conscious. I think.”

Mercury frowned, this time in thought rather than contempt. “I don't know.”

“Perhaps if you moved,” said a voice from behind, “I could find out why.”

In the time between configuring the flight controls and rejoining them, Watts had donned a blue-gray lab coat and retrieved a pinstriped physician’s bag. With an impatient shooing gesture he strode past them and set it down on the benchside table.

“Formalities first. Cinder”—Watts leaned forward—“if you’re alert then I need you to prove it. Can you speak?”

His only answer was a faint, rasping breath.

“I assumed as much.” A critical eye swept lengthwise over his patient as he removed a pair of latex gloves from his bag. “Not that it particularly matters, but in the event you can still hear me, I assume you’re consenting to whatever treatment methods I deem necessary.”

She could've imagined it, but Emerald thought she saw Cinder’s chest rise and fall a little faster.

Mercury, meanwhile, had made himself comfortable leaning against a nearby wall, close enough that he could still watch the proceedings. It was a deceptively casual gesture that to the untrained eye would have given the impression of indifference. It was also a complete lie and fooling no one, so Emerald really didn’t see why he bothered. Couldn’t he at least _pretend_ to look worried?

Then, to her surprise, he spoke up: “You’re not seriously going to perform surgery on her now, are you? Right here? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“More or less dangerous than leaving her to bleed everywhere?” Watts asked dryly. He arched a slender brow at Mercury. “If you’re squeamish then by all means, you’re welcome to leave the room.”

“Leave the—? It’s an _airship_ with _one room_ and a _cockpit_.”

“Precisely,” Watts drawled. He slipped a surgical mask over his face, but not before Emerald caught a flash of teeth. “So I suggest you get over yourself rather quickly.”

There was a pause as he removed another piece of equipment from his bag, before he added, almost as an afterthought: “And to answer your earlier question, no. I’m merely seeing that she arrives in stable condition. We’ll operate upon our return.”

_That_ got her attention. Emerald exchanged a wary glance with Mercury, before curiosity got the better of her. “You actually never said where we were—”

That was exactly when Cinder decided she’d had enough, and with an incoherent cry slammed the heel of her foot into Watts’ ribs.

The blow caused him to stagger backward, although it lacked any of the usual strength behind it. The most it achieved was creating a meter gap between them. With a swear Watts closed the distance, sidestepping a second kick aimed for his head and pinning her with the weight of his arm in the same fluid motion. The proximity caused Cinder to thrash harder, teeth bared in a snarl.

It took Emerald a stupidly long moment to realize she was still standing there, occupying about the same level of uselessness as Mercury, who hadn’t even vacated his spot by the wall. Uncertainly she took a step forward, wanting to intervene but not sure how, or even who, to help.

It was a decision that became irrelevant a second later, as Watts had finally managed to wrestle what looked like a syringe out of his bag. Before either of them had the chance to react, he’d stretched out her intact arm and jabbed the needle into the skin. An eerie, cold sensation, like the kind Emerald got whenever in the presence of Grimm, settled in her gut as she watched the fire fade from Cinder’s remaining eye. Her face slackened into an emotion that she couldn’t read (not that it was necessarily a good one), and with a final gasp the tension bled from her body.

Cautiously, Watts straightened to his full height. He collected himself with a quiet exhale, and then scowled at the copious blood stains that had soaked their way into his coat.

“I suppose I’ll have to dry clean this,” he announced to no one in particular.

Emerald must have been telegraphing her thoughts pretty hard, so she didn’t exactly _jump_ so much as _dramatically fidget_ when Watts answered her unspoken question: “That was a general anesthetic. It should keep her unconscious for…well, for however long I decide.”

Weighing the pros and cons, Emerald crept a little closer, while maintaining an apprehensive amount of space. It wasn’t so much a lack of faith in the drug so much as it was a lot of faith in Cinder. And the reasonably healthy paranoia of nothing short of a rhino tranquilizer keeping her boss down. A paranoia that may or may not have been stoked a little by the sight of Watts touching her arm and fastening a tourniquet to the bicep.

“I didn't think she had the strength to do that.” Not that Emerald blamed Cinder in the slightest.

“You’d think bleeding to death would take a lot out of you," Mercury added. Emerald shot him a glare.

“It does, or hadn’t you noticed her inability to fight?” What would have ordinarily been a derisive remark sounded almost pleasantly neutral—or rather, what passed for “pleasantly neutral” from Watts, if only because his focus was on the windlass he was torqueing against her skin. “That little outburst certainly clarified a few things in retrospect. I suspected this would be the case, if the earlier unresponsiveness and confusion hadn’t been dead giveaways—oh dear, that was rather insensitive, wasn’t it?”

Emerald shot him a dirty look.

“Clarified what, exactly?” Mercury asked, after a beat of silence.

Watts clipped the windlass into place and jotted something down on the strap. “Her current condition, which lines up with the other symptoms she’s been exhibiting since you dragged her onto the ship.” He reached down and secured Cinder’s wrist with one hand, pressing two of his fingers against the skin. He lapsed into a momentary silence before releasing the appendage, and inscribing something on a holographic tablet with a stylus. “Reduced temperature to extremities, pale complexion and clamminess, pulse one hundred and thirty beats per minute, heightened anxiety and panic, respiratory rate estimated at thirty breaths per minute.” He tsk’d. “Even without the measurements for systolic and diastolic pressure it’s safe to infer she’s in the early onset of hypervolemic shock. That would place blood loss at…” Watts tapped the end of the stylus to his chin. “About a liter and a half, give or take.”

“_What?_” Emerald lurched forward. Out of her periphery she saw Mercury’s expression go blank. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, quite.” Watts’ eyes didn’t stray from whatever was so fucking fascinating on his screen. “Do bear in mind that she’s lost an arm. Amputations tend to be rather bloody affairs.”

“Then do something about it!” Mercury snapped. For a moment, Emerald was taken aback by the venom in his voice, only to belatedly remember that she’d convinced him that making sure Cinder didn’t die was in their best interest. Well, that was reassuring. In a messed-up sort of way.

“I am,” Watts said. Rather pointedly he set down the tablet and went about retrieving his supply bag. “The pressure I set in place is constricting the blood vessels. Not that it matters, seeing as her brachial artery was completely severed by whatever put her in this sorry condition. That's some good news, I suppose.”

Emerald made an indignant noise. “How is a severed artery _good news_?”

“Because it induces a process called vasospasm.” With an elastic _snap_ Watts removed his gloves. “In any other circumstance that would be a problem, as it would lead to ischemia and tissue death. As it just so happens, it’s clamping the artery and stopping it from hosing everything in blood. Factor in what I’ve already done to minimize blood loss, and dear Cinder shouldn’t bleed out any time soon.”

What should have been reassuring only dialed up Emerald’s stress to an eleven. It seemed to be a mutual sentiment, as Mercury didn’t resume his original post by the wall, but actually came to stand next to her. If Watts cared about having an audience then he didn’t show it, as he busied himself with swapping out a fresh pair of gloves and fetching a tube he’d left off to the side of the bench.

A thrill of revulsion and discomfort shot through her as Watts dabbed the ointment onto his fingers, and with obscene gentleness, began to massage it into the burns on Cinder’s face. Just the mere act of watching him _touch her_ made Emerald want to do—something. Probably something dramatic and stupid and not at all helpful to their current predicament. In a vain effort to distract herself from the whooshing sensation in her gut, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

Thank the gods or pathetically good timing that Mercury decided at that moment to offer a distraction, in the form of what seemed like a fairly obvious question: “Look, I’m not going to pretend to know anything about medicine—”

“And yet you’re still talking,” Watts said.

“—but shouldn’t she be hooked up to IVs and crap? What about an oxygen mask?”

Weird how that was the thing that got Watts to stop, long enough to shoot the pair a withering look. “Does this look like a hospital to you?”

Only Mercury could make a talent of taking all the insolence in the world and packaging it into a single shrug.

“This model of airship is designed for fast transport, not medical intervention and treatment. The extent of what I can do is everything laid out before you.” He’d gone for a second application of the topical cream—Emerald could make out the words _silver sulfadiazine_ on the label, though what that was or what it did she had no idea—and resumed rubbing it into the skin. “Once I have access to my equipment I can begin a blood transfusion, and get her on a saline drip. For now, we make do.”

Which wasn’t exactly great news, but Watts seemed to know what he was talking about, and it wasn’t like they had any other options. Mercifully he withdrew his hand and binned the soiled gloves.

“What about her Aura?” Emerald asked. “I know depleted Auras can take a while to recover, but they’re part of the healing process for us. Shouldn’t hers have started to come back?”

It didn’t sound nearly as reasoned-out as it had in her head, and Emerald might have been grasping at straws by that point. She’d hit a profoundly new degree of desperate if she was relying on conversations with _Watts_ for reassurance

But at least he was humoring her, even if the scornful eye-roll indicated that such questions were beneath him and a clear waste of his time. “That depends on the extent of the injuries, which in her case are rather impressive, if you can describe incompetence as such.”

A hand shot out and grabbed Emerald by the shoulder. Thankfully Watts missed Mercury’s warning headshake. With a long exhale Emerald extricated herself from his grip and stepped back.

“Until her body has healed up a bit on its own, her Aura won’t be regenerating any time soon.” Then, to her surprise, Watts pocketed his scroll and turned to face them, arms braced against the bench. “Of course, I could expedite that process if I knew what caused it.”

Emerald briefly faltered under his scrutiny and shot a helpless glance at Mercury. “We…actually don’t know what happened,” she answered, after a brief internal debate. “She was like that when we found her.”

“Oh?” he drawled. “Do tell.”

“There’s nothing really to tell.” Mercury crossed his arms. “We were the first people to get there. There weren’t any signs of what did that to her. Cinder was delirious and sort of confused, and that dragon-Grimm was turned to stone.”

Watts’ eyes narrowed, and he inclined his head to the side. Emerald didn’t like the sudden interest.

“And her assailant?” he asked. “Had they already fled?”

It took a second for her brain to connect his question with what she’d seen, and even then, Emerald really wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but it certainly wasn’t what they’d found. “There was another student—a girl who goes to Beacon. She was out cold when we got there. No injuries. At least, none we could see.”

“Not like we were taking the time to give her a full-body physical,” Mercury added. Though that hadn’t stopped him from kicking Ruby in the torso as they’d collected their half-conscious employer and scrambled back down the tower.

Whatever Watts thought of that, he didn’t say. There was an assessing quality to his expression as he gave them a precursory once-over. “Were either of you injured during the battle?”

“No,” said Mercury. Emerald shook her head.

“Good. Leave it that way.”

Emerald recognized a dismissal when she heard one, and frankly, she didn’t need to be told twice. That went double for Mercury, who wasted no time in staking out a corner of the ship that was relatively free of clutter, and with a grunt, prizing off Talaria. He’d produced a screwdriver from somewhere on his person and began to make adjustments to his protheses. Watts, meanwhile, went about cleaning up his work station, discarding the facial mask and sanitizing any surfaces of blood.

Which left Emerald rather aimless. Down time hadn’t exactly been a thing during her childhood, with every moment spent pickpocketing strangers, stealing food, or looking for shelter. Her upgrade from homeless street rat to criminal accomplice hadn’t changed much there either, as she’d immediately been consulted on everything, from planning heists to acquiring assets. It was only during their undercover operation at Beacon she’d found herself with a sudden surplus of free time, and an overwhelming uncertainty of what to do with it, exactly.

Standing in the middle of the ship, Emerald realized she still hadn’t figured out what to do with it, and it was eating away at her nerves. The offer to help Mercury with maintenance momentarily crossed her mind, only to be discarded just as quickly. He would have thrown her off the airship just for bringing it up. And she’d rather jam scalpels into her eyes before she asked Watts if he needed a hand.

And so, with nothing better to do, Emerald began to pace the length of the ship.

It was on her fifteenth pass when Watts finally looked up from whatever he’d been doing by the bench. “You know,” he said, in a voice that went for impassive and fell a little short, “it’s going to be a rather long flight. You might consider getting some sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” Emerald answered, only to be betrayed by the yawn she wasn’t quick enough to hide.

Watts’ lips twitched in the beginnings of a smirk. “Clearly.”

Just the suggestion of sleep opened the floodgates for all the exhaustion of the past few hours, from wherever it had been conveniently stashed away until now. Brains were funny like that. “No, really, I’m fine. I don’t need to sleep.”

“Would you like a second opinion from a licensed physician?” Watts asked meanly.

Emerald turned to face him, and was struck by the sight of him standing by Cinder, another syringe in hand. Suspicion crowded out any previous fatigue. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to take turns keeping an eye on her,” she offered, in what she hoped passed for nonchalance. “I could take the first watch.”

Watts studied her for all of three seconds before he let out a low chuckle. (This time, Emerald did jump.) “Do you honestly believe I spent the last hour patching up the little drama queen only to off her the second your eyes were closed?” He sneered. “For that matter, do you think either of you is in fit enough condition to stop me, even if I wanted to?”

Emerald really wished she had some clever insult to fire back with. That he’d seen right through her was making it a little hard to concentrate.

“I’m merely giving her another sedative, so she doesn’t wake up and try to put a hole in the ship.” Watts stroked his chin. “I couldn’t allow it in good conscience if you were _deliberately_ neglecting your rest. Perhaps I could help with that.” He gestured ever-so-minutely with the syringe.

Message received. Emerald warily retreated a step or two back. Only then did the other implication in his words finally catch up to her, and she spoke before she could stop herself. “So she’s really going to live?”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

“But can you fix her?” Emerald gestured to what was left of the arm, now obscured by some sort of tarp.

Watts heaved a sigh that was more theatrics than sincere. “If I wasn’t the most distinguished person in my field, some other hapless soul would be standing here, tending to this mess. Yes, I can fix her.”

A breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding shakily left her.

“Now either find something useful to do or make yourself scarce. You _don’t_ want to leave that choice up to me.”

“Em.”

Emerald turned to see Mercury regarding her with a look that, while not friendly, was a step up from his usual stick-up-the-ass MO. He appeared to be deliberating on something that he hadn’t yet come to regret, but was about to any moment.

Honestly, she really, _really_ didn’t have time for this.

Before Emerald could say as much (along with a couple other mean things) Mercury reached a decision. Very awkwardly, he patted the spot next to him.

Emerald blinked.

Apparently she took too long for his liking, because he snorted and went back to tightening a bolt on one of the legs.

Much as she wanted to stand there and contemplate the universe and whatever planetary alignment was causing him to act like a decent person, sleep beckoned. On unsteady feet she trod over to the wall, and slid down to the floor next to Mercury. For a moment Emerald entertained the hilarious thought of using his shoulder as a pillow, but decided not to push her luck. She’d slept in worse conditions. A little discomfort was doable.

Very doable, in fact. She was out before she had the chance to think about the horrible neck pain that would be awaiting her when she woke up.


End file.
